


arsenic & new lace

by 01nm



Category: Fantastic Four, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Flirting, Humor, Identity Reveal, Other, POV Alternating, disgusted intrigue, gross humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8540491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/01nm/pseuds/01nm
Summary: It (kinda) starts when Spider-Man requests backup in an infallible plan to launch Deadpool into space.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this was previously a oneshot titled 'pizza critics in space'
> 
> just a warning: somebody gets peed on within like the first few paragraphs

 

When Wade thoughtlessly unzips his pants while standing on the edge of some random building (a store?) he _maybe_ forgot why he was on (he woke up here or some unimportant tripe like that), the mercenary doesn't really think as to _why_ he's peeing right then and there. He just knows that his bladder feels like it's been full for weeks (not that unlikely, given his track record) and was recently gut punched into submission by something that smelled of nature’s bodily waste.

 

Shit. He’s talking about shit.

 

Like a farm tractor. A really big, loud, orange tractor that has some kind of _thingy_ attached to the front that was good for gut punches.

 

Wade grunts and shifts a little bit.

 

 _Now_ he's thinking that, if you showed him a picture of himself running towards that exact dirty orange machine with his arms open, waiting for his gut punch, his first thought wouldn't be whether or not the photo is fake. He’d just take it willingly.

 

Like gut punches.

 

Mmm - _gut punches._

 

He could do with one of those right about now.

 

'Cept he's too busy letting out a really long, loud groan that feels _damn good_ as he tilts his head back.

 

It's kinda interrupted by the sound of a woman screaming in shock from below.

 

Fucking _rude._

 

 _“Aunt May!”_ shouts a young voice, joining the concerned noises from the other people on the sidewalk and the disgusted ones from the woman.

 

Wade sniffs, zipping up his pants and looking down unto the havoc with only about half a mind.

 

He very nearly leaps backwards with a yelp once he meets the eyes of the person who is full on _glaring_ up at him from below, one hand placed on the pee-woman’s (haha, oopsie daisy?) shoulder.

 

Egads!

 

Who knew death glares from waifish book nerds could be so… deathly.

 

Snorting humorously at the _pee_ -ceful scene he just ruined, Deadpool shrugs and gives two salutes to the angry looking hipster _mofo_ on the ground before dropping back and hopping along rooftops.

 

The power walk makes his mind get real loud and annoying, though, and so he gets real _loud_ and _annoyed_ in return.

 

“Fuck off!” He shouts at the sky between the buildings. “I get brownie points for remembering to unzip my pants this time and you know it!”

 

Somebody laughs incredulously from their position sticking their head out a window. They quickly retreat when Deadpool begins to lovingly fondle the gun lowest on his hip, right next to his trusty _blood orange_ fanny pack.

 

Eh, whatever.

 

Now where the hell is his closest apartment? He feels like dressin’ up all _purdy_ and dramatically lounging on his settee. He _intimately_ enjoys daydreaming about the next time he gets to throw himself into Wolverine’s sharp, manly hands.

 

_Unf._

 

.

.

 

Spider-Man’s phone call goes something like this:

 

“I need to request the Avenger’s backup for a _very_ important task.”

 

“…I see.”

 

“Excuse me, Captain,” says Spider-Man, ultimately catty with one hand on his hip and the other gripping a little too tightly onto his free Stark Phone, “but I don’t think you _do_ see. Deadpool’s really crossed the line this time –“

 

“Spider-Man, do you think you’re maybe…” Don’t say overreacting. “Overreacting?”

 

Peter lets out a tiny scream.

 

 _“No! I’m not!”_ He shouts into the phone, increasingly agitated. “You _don’t understand!”_

 

“Okay.”

 

“You’ve _gotta!”_ strains Peter, who is pacing on the top of a building he landed on before decidedly digging his phone out from the backpack he brought along. Everybody can make fun of him for crawling around with it strapped to his back later; this is _serious business._ “And I need you to bring along the Fantastic Four. I know you’ve got their contact line.”

 

“…Johnny, too?” Steve queries, slightly incredulous. There’s noises in the background now, as if he’s pulling his mouth away to talk to other people.

 

It _physically pains_ Peter to say this, but…

 

“Yes,” responds the spider-vigilante, whose knuckles are crackling at this point with the pressure. Or maybe that’s the phone being slowly destroyed. “Bring that… _fire-lubber,_ Johnny Storm too.”

 

“…Ah,” is all that Steve says after a quiet moment. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Peter can barely hear Captain America go “this sounds serious. He’s asking for _Johnny Storm’s_ help” before the line fully cuts off.

 

Perfect, Peter thinks vindictively as he shoves the phone back into his bag, webbing that up under somebody’s tiny A/C unit.

 

Now all he’s got to do is keep that _peeing menace_ occupied and in one general area long enough for the cavalry to arrive.

 

As he watches the way the sun sets and glimmers over the glass and metal city, he gets an idea.

 

Oh, yea. That’ll work.

 

.

.

 

“No – it’s _not_ a date!” Spider-Man’s voice goes kind of high with stress as he slaps one gloved hand to his masked face and groans slightly. “I- look, do you wanna hang out with me, or not? If you don’t, I can just leave –“

 

“No, don’t leave!” Deadpool throws their hands up; a little too desperate of a performance, but when have they ever cared about being _too much_ of anything? “I’ll do whatever you wanna do, Webs, honest. You just surprised little old me is all – you ain’t exactly a _Casanova_ kinda guy.”

 

“A _what?_ Ugh, whatever…” Peter has a headache. A familiar symptom of the Deadpool kind, unfortunately. “Let’s just… Go.”

 

“Oooo, is this a picnic? A romantic _rendezvous?”_ Deadpool giggles in delight, following behind the quickly walking away Spider-Man a bit too close to be casual. “I know _exactly seven_ different ways to utilize cream cheese to the fullest extent, so if you have any –“

 

“Let’s race there!” Peter interjects hurriedly, already taking off across the rooftops, but not before receiving a light slap to his shoulder.

 

Deadpool lets out an excited whooping noise from behind him and eagerly follows with a shouted _“Ha! You’re it!”_

 

The human arachnid has an easy time making any length of a jump in his city. He honestly doesn’t care whether or not Deadpool can – he just figures he can pick up any ‘pieces’ later if he really has to. It wouldn’t be the first time.

 

At one point, Peter’s senses spike worryingly, but when he looks behind to see what the chasing merc is doing, Deadpool only smiles real big behind that strangely expressive mask and speeds up some.

 

Peter’s not that embarrassed to admit that he picks up speed as well, trying to stay well ahead of the competition.

 

Eventually, he has to abruptly stop, barely dodging Deadpool who appears to have been attempting to tackle him. The merc grunts as they slide chest-first across the rooftop, legs flopping comically behind them.

 

“We’re here,” is all Peter tells them, putting his hands on his hips and pursing his lips. He doesn’t feel all that sorry for DP – the guy _did_ probably intend to play some kind of violent version of tag with that last move.

 

To their left is an empty street, save for the strange congregation of confused supers and mutates.

 

Peter lets out a sigh of relief when the only members of the Avengers he can spot are Steve, Natasha, and Bruce, the last of which looks increasingly awkward the longer they all stand together like that. If they’d brought somebody like Tony or Sam, he’d be getting a snarky earful by now.

 

He barely gets out a cringe at seeing Johnny Storm before Deadpool makes himself known by standing _really close_ to his shoulder and exclaiming _“Whoa!_ Is this a _party?”_

 

“Yea,” responds Spider-Man cryptically, taking a few steps back and widening his legs in preparation. “A _going away_ party.”

 

At Deadpool’s confused ‘huh?’, Peter kicks them off of the building.

 

Justice is served.

 

 _“Hasta la vista,_ baby!” Deadpool’s strangled, shouted words meet the ears of everyone around, who look up just in time to see him collide with the ground belly-first, a gurgling _crack_ emanating from the downed mercenary.

 

Spider-Man lands fluidly on the pavement seconds later, waving jauntily at the slightly stunned members of the Fantastic Four before approaching Steve. “Hey! Glad you could make it.”

 

“Um…” Starts Johnny Storm. Peter feels a tic immediately form in his brow. “Did you just _kill Deadpool?”_

 

Deadpool groans helpfully and gives a thumbs up to the group gathered. “’M good. ‘M good... _hup…”_

 

“That’s not important,” Peter waves the concerns off. Geez – can’t these people focus? “What _is_ important is that you’re all here and that means we can _hurry up_ and move on with the plan.”

 

“What is this plan, exactly?” Asks a visibly concerned Reed Richards, coming to stand next to Johnny and Steve. “I was informed that you may be in need of my expertise, but I’m unsure as to how this could be relevant.”

 

“Sue couldn’t make it,” Johnny butts in for some reason, successfully using Peter as an arm rest for about 0.5 seconds before being slapped away by an irate spider. “But – a little birdy told me that a certain little _spidey_ asked for Johnny Storm specifically.”

 

“I did no such thing,” gripes Spider-Man.  Steve stays thankfully silent during this exchange, despite knowing otherwise.

 

“Spider-Man,” says the Captain. “Whatever plan this is –“

 

“It’ll work,” Peter immediately defends.

 

“Whatever plan this is,” Steve reiterates, but doesn’t get annoyed. He’s cool like that. “I’m sure we’d all love to hear it first before we jump straight in to something we might not know how to accomplish.”

 

Peter sighs.

 

Deadpool creeps closer.

 

Johnny gives the merc the stink eye.

 

Reed stares off into the distance thoughtfully.

 

Natasha, Ben, and Bruce appear to have congregated together some ways away, speaking politely to each other. The red-haired woman slides little mocha drinks out of her astonishingly deep pockets and hands them out to her two buddies. Bruce declines the caffeine, but Ben accepts with a happy smile.

 

“You know, Spidey, you look a little _tense,”_ says Johnny, who sidles up to Peter real close and distracts him from Steve’s studious gaze. “Did you know that we have two hot tubs? Because we have two hot tubs. Big ones, with massage jets.”

 

“Yes, Storm,” grouches Peter. “You tell me every chance you get that you have _more than one_ hot tub.”

 

“You know what, I think we might have three now,” Johnny pretends to muse, and _oh,_ how the show of casual money absolutely _rankles_ Peter. “It’s _very_ private…”

 

Whatever Johnny was about to say trails off as he squints over at Deadpool, who is standing right up against the Torch’s shoulder and breathing loudly.

 

“Dude, you’re in my bubble.”

 

More loud breathing.

 

Peter is intensely creeped out. By the both of them. He moves over to Steve’s other side with a hand motion that says ‘I’m done with that.’

 

“So the plan is, ultimately,” Peter breathes in for full effect, “we use a combination of science and brute force to… launch Deadpool into space.”

 

…

 

“Ohmigod, like… what?” Deadpool harrumphs in a high, but mostly deadpan voice. “I’m gonna have to issue a hard pass on that - I don’t think I can pee in space.”

 

Peter whips around so fast he gives himself bright white spots in his eyes, one hand pointing. “So you _admit_ that you _peed! Where! You! Shouldn’t have!”_

 

“Is that what this is about?” Steve asks, looking rightfully confused, but overall not that surprised with the turn of events.

 

“He _peed_ on _my au-!”_ Deep breathes, Parker. “He peed on a _civilian._ An _old woman.”_

 

“Uh…” Tries to interrupt Johnny Storm.

 

 _“Who pees on old people!?”_ Spider-Man shouts, noodle arms flinging themselves into the air. “That’s just _so wrong!”_

 

 _“Can_ you pee in space?” Deadpool wonders out loud.

 

“No, you cannot,” Reed answers diplomatically. “Simply put – it would freeze.”

 

“Owch…” Johnny comments.

 

“What do you _mean_ we can’t launch him into space!?” Peter yells at Steve, who looks utterly unmoved. “He needs to be _punished!_ Forever, preferably, in the endless, soundless vacuum of space!”

 

“Why would we ‘launch him into space’,” here, Johnny uses _really annoying_ air quotes that make Peter’s blood boil, “when he’s literally murdered people before? Like, am I missing something here? Peeing on somebody _is_ gross –“

 

Spider-Man makes a strained sound akin to that of a crying bird.

 

“ – and I honestly _don’t_ want to hear the full story,” continues the Fantastic Four member, “but does that really mean he deserves to be banished from Earth?”

 

“Eh, I’d come down for breakfast,” Deadpool nonchalantly adds. The merc seems incredibly unconcerned at the prospect of his imminent and immortalized doom. “Do you think they deliver pizza into space? But not Pizza Hut – that shit is rank.”

 

“You don’t like Pizza Hut?” gasps Johnny Storm.

 

“I’m a committed slut for Domino’s.”

 

“…Hm, a fair trade.”

 

“Why can’t the Hulk and Ben just, just…” Peter flails a little bit. “Pick him up and- and- ‘Go Long’ and all that!?”

 

“That’s physically impossible,” pipes in Reed, who is now mostly enraptured with his tablet. “Johnny? Sue says that you’re not allowed to bring your crush home until _after_ you find out their age, identity, and marital status.”

 

“Aww, Reed! Way to be a buzzkill and tell her…” Johnny scratches the side of his blush-red face, sending non-covert looks over at Spider-Man, who is too preoccupied with stomping their foot in indignation to notice.

 

Which is why there’s no surprise (except to Peter, of course) when Deadpool manages to sneak up on their not-that-friendly-right-now neighborhood Spider-Man and slip an arm around the steaming arachnid’s shoulders.

 

Peter squeaks, because his spidey-senses are deathly silent, and that just makes him angry, because he _totally should’ve dodged that._

 

“Well, if you don’t mind me butting in, Captain Fanboy.” Deadpool tries to wink under his mask. It doesn’t really work. “Me and this _spoida’_ boy are in need of some… heavy conversation, including the cream cheese. Excuse us.”

 

“There will be no cream cheese involved,” Peter feels the need to inform the neutral Captain America before allowing himself to be dragged away, mostly because Deadpool is actually using some strength in the action and it has Peter curious.

 

“Not that I don’t _appreciate_ this ‘going away’ party,” Deadpool tells him once they’re a suitable distance away from anyone. Johnny keeps sending them _looks._ “But do you mind telling me just what got that ickle spider brain of yours the idea to send me off to a vacation in _space?_ Inquiring minds want to know.”

 

“I just want you to pay for peeing on her,” Peter grumbles, ever so slightly guilty at being directly confronted like this. His plan doesn’t seem all that _brilliant_ anymore, with Deadpool’s whitened eyes staring down at him. “Is that too much to ask?”

 

Deadpool tilts his head. Then he clears his throat. “So, was I having a brain fart or what when I heard you, from your own mouth, maybe begin to say the words ‘Aunt May’?”

 

Peter freezes damningly.

 

“Because, y’know,” Deadpool continues, obviously taking immense pleasure in this whole thing. “There was this guy who said the _exact same thing_ not too long ago –“

 

 _“Piss monster,”_ Spider-Man growls, bodily picking up Deadpool (who goes lax immediately, and doesn’t try to defend themself at all.)

 

“Do you still wanna come over this weekend for pancakes?” Deadpool asks daringly, a little breathless in his precarious position.

 

 _“Yea, sure, okay, fine!”_ Spider-Man agrees, with no shortage of shouting and _pure rage._ “I want bananas in mine!”

 

“You got it, you uppity hippie mess.”

 

The confused bystanders of the Avengers and Fantastic Four team all look on as Spider-Man angrily bench presses a screaming Deadpool. Both of them are yelling, actually.

 

There is a resigned air amongst the two teams as they watch Spider-Man bodily toss Deadpool up onto a roof before the human arachnid follows.

 

“Does this mean we’re not gonna hang out later?” Johnny Storm shouts at the retreating figures.

 

They’re still audibly yelling at each other in the distance.

 

“Just let it go, son,” says Captain America, putting a hand on a morose Johnny’s shoulder before turning to his team, who are all chatting and sipping bottled drinks. “Okay – breaks over. Let’s go home and do our actual jobs now.”

 

“It’s always fun when Spidey calls us for somethin’,” comments Ben, who thanks Natasha for the mocha and gives her the empty bottle to be recycled. “Always nice seein’ you all, too.”

 

“Likewise,” smiles the nervous Dr. Banner.

 

Somewhere, in one of DP’s many apartments, Spider-Man is having a _legit cow_ over how DP rents more than one apartment in New York.

 


End file.
